Miss Pizzey, Your Methods Are Arguable
by planet p
Summary: Missy is a hunter; second in a series. Possible spoilers for Twilight by Stephenie Meyer.


**Miss Pizzey, Your Methods Are Arguable** by planet p

**Disclaimer** I don't own _Supernatural_ of any of its characters.

* * *

_Washington_

_2010_

Washington, the state of the fictional town, Forks; of dreary, rain-driven days, and cadaver-grey clouds, thick like swathes of grey cotton candy of differing colour gradients, an offering to those that had passed, a blanket of rhinoceros' hides, big enough to hide the world, or just a pocket of it, a great littering of moths, or a mass grave, like those that you sometimes found in the ceils of windows, all dried up and looking as though they'd just taken a nap much more than died.

Pixie Pizzey – or Missy – hadn't read _Twilight_, or even any of its sequels, but Siana and Taz, 16-year-old best friends, had read every book more than once, and more even than twice. Siana's bedroom walls were covered by three posters of the first movie, and Taz had bought her all the books for her birthday a year ago.

Siana and Taz believed in vampires and werewolves and Edward and Jacob, and even in Bella, the clumsy human girl with a mysterious penchant for attracting unpleasantness, and unpleasant situations.

They were 16, after all. Rebellious. Not children, but not exactly, technically, to the extent of the law, adults.

Siana and Taz didn't believe in fairies, or Tinker Bell.

But Missy had a strong feeling that although they believed in vampires and werewolves, that they didn't believe in vampires and werewolves, but that they believed in the fantasy, the mystique, and mysteriousness. And, after all, it was so _cool_. And everyone was into it.

She had a strong feeling that were she to tell them that Taz's older brother, Lake, had met his death at the hands of a bunch of _fairies_, that they would laugh themselves silly for several weeks at least, and probably post the story about the real live basket case who'd obviously been stalking them – and possibly girl crushing on them, which was, like, so awful – on their internet diary page or whatever it was young people were into that seemed to have replaced good old fashioned gossip and letters in the mail.

And the funniest thing – or inappropriately ridiculous thing – was that laughter (real, honest to goodness laughter) was the only thing that killed fairies, dissolved them out of the air just like they were lemon drops, on a hot, hot day. Very hot day.

Maybe, in some unexplainable, or totally explainable way (if she'd been a geek head), it neutralised their energies.

But these fairies weren't like Tinker Bell. In fact, they were nothing like the Disney-blonde pint-sized animated beauty.

With a bit of imagination – I believe in fairies, I do – they'd taken Lake's name, and they'd fashioned it into a weapon of deadly assassination. They'd literally suffocated him to death, drowned him without any water, but, instead, with their bodies; they'd flown, on mass, into his throat and killed him. A swarm of drunken circus freak proportions, and that was even when the drunken circus freak had just zapped out of one reality into this one. The believability of such a story, Missy knew, was about as believable as the circus freak thing.

So why was she willing to risk public humiliation and black-listing from her new school to confide in Siana and Taz about the true manner of Taz's older brother, Lake's apparent suffocation suicide? Because what fairies seemed to like, most of all, by some freakish process, was families.

Which meant that Taz, or her younger brother, Card – Missy did not feel inclined toward unlocking the mysteries of child naming, at least, not for this family – was next in line to the slaughter.

So, cart her off and lock her up and throw the key away – into a barrel of electric eels – but failing on that, Missy was a hunter, and a hunter never let the bad guys get away without paying, in one way or another.

Of course, she wasn't about to tell Siana and Taz this tiny bit of information, especially not when, getting ready for Sport in the girl's toilets, changing into their school's sport-approved uniform, she waited until they were the last three in the toilet to walk up to them and blurt out her theory on what really happened to Lake, because, like, young people just didn't take their own lives for no reason! That was so dumb!

She wasn't expecting to get off scott-free – maybe a bit of bad language thrown in the mix – but she certainly wasn't expecting the reception she did get.

Siana and Taz flat out laughed in her face – like a bouquet of too smelly flowers, or those fake flowers which sprayed you in the eye, Missy thought irrationally – then, quickly decided that the label 'freak' suited her well, and finished by pushing her over and flouncing out of the toilets, leaving her with a sore backside and a powerful urge to kick their butts in volleyball.

Which she did, and even earned the bruises to prove it, all up the insides of her arms, like great ugly welts, so unattractive.

But a hunter never allowed a wounded sensibility to interfere with the job. Though, of course, Missy didn't really know what a hunter did or didn't do, she was just making it up as she went along, which suited her, and which made it more like a guideline, rather than a rule.

A guideline, like all guidelines, that sucked.

* * *

In English class, they wrote notes to their 'other' friends, spreading the good word that she was cracked in the head whilst the teacher, Helge Whoever, who liked her students to call her by her first name – coochy coo, I mean, yuck – remained completely, convincingly oblivious, which Missy put down to the fact that she lived in another world altogether, probably the one with the drunken circus freak, who was probably her husband, and so many romance novels that they probably had used the damn things to build an extra wall in the middle of their bedroom because they couldn't stand each other.

She didn't care about the laws of hunters, she was so going to kick Taz's butt when she'd fried those fairy freaks!

A ray gun seemed appropriate – and something tight and false metallic to wear – or maybe she'd just torch all of Taz's homework, the homework that wasn't even due yet, but that her brother – dead brother – had helped her to finish one weekend, because he'd really been a geek head – or nerd head, it seemed like he deserved a name of his own, out of the mould – and he'd seriously cared, despite the fact, about his younger sister's future, and the future of her education and opportunities.

Which was a pity, because she didn't seem to care one jot.

Missy made a mental note to carry out that B&E and pyromania when the note that Siana and Taz had been passing around class was crunched up into a ball and thrown into the back of her head.

* * *

At the bell, Siana and Taz collected their things and walked to their lockers in troupe. They even walked in troupe, arms interlocked, all the way out of the school building, which Missy didn't know for sure, but she thought was for her benefit, to royally _piss_ her off some more, and finally parted ways in the parking lot beside the receptionist's Subaru because Siana's mom had come to pick her up, like she always did, and Siana and Taz lived in the completely opposite directions from school to each other, not forgetting that Siana's mom was a bitch and would have bitched about the rising cost of fuel – and some frogs in the Amazon forest – if she'd been 'guilt-tripped' into dropping her daughter's best friend off at her house by her daughter, and would began announcing all of the useless things in Siana's room – 'just lying around' – that she didn't need and they could sell off on Ebay and make a killing.

Because, apparently, a la Siana – Geography class, eavesdropping – her mom was just the most kind, considerate, most fuzzy person this side of the planet, and locked her in the closet if she didn't do her homework, the 'fuckin' psycho bitch'!

Siana was ferried away by control-freak mom in a BMW – thank you very much, Scum's Ville, touch my car and I make you destitute – leaving Taz to her own devices, and to find her own way home in her new pair of Converses which had been her father's birthday present on her last birthday, and loaded down by a crappy schoolbag with the lamest straps which were probably going to wrench her shoulder muscles all out of place, which will kill, and then proceed to massacre, ruthlessly, her neck muscles, and have her, a 3 A.M. maybe, drunk, and puking her guts up in the bathroom, which was all part of the appeal of her _stupid_ life, which was so stupider than Siana's, even with the closet-locking thing.

Of course, said stupider life was probably a perfectly rational justification for earplugs, MP3 player turned up loud – loud enough for Missy to hear, trailing artfully at length – and walking in the middle of the road in the wrong lane so that if a car was to come up behind her, she wouldn't have a clue until it ran her over, and she was tack-meat.

All the fairies would have to do, then, Missy began to think, would learn to hotwire and drive a car and run her down, and their work would be done, if all they were intending to do was to kill her. Unfortunately, that wasn't it at all.

What they really wanted was her heart – for dessert.

From what she'd read, and she wasn't the most avid reader – though she was improving, she had to say – Missy had gathered that they believed that feasting on human hearts kept them immortal and ageless, it was just a big secret, which was why the cosmetic companies didn't latch onto the same idea, or maybe that was just because they'd have their seats sued out from under their asses if they ever got caught, because they sure weren't all happy, forgiving people like Siana's mom when they thought that only _everyone_ was ugly without their product cosmetic, or gullible enough to believe it, in which case, they were fair game.

The problem wasn't really the suicide road thing, with Missy having snuck out of hiding and trailing Taz fairly closely at her back, waving her arms around like a mad person and turning in circles whenever she felt like humiliating herself even more – or she got that zingy vibe that her freak-status was slipping, oh shit, crap, that was bad – or when a car got close; the problem was the park on the way to Taz's house.

Though, Missy admitted, it would have been totally funny if Taz _had_ turned around and saw her behind her, skipping along and waving her arms like cartwheels. It would have had her in stitches laughing her head off!

* * *

The park was actually pretty cool, as far as parks went, Missy decided. It was green, and brown, and it even had a bit of a walking track, which was always a plus, until a horde of cyclists decided to run you off the track, or, if you refused, run you over.

A quick survey of the track ahead, however, revealed it to be free of cyclists, phantom or otherwise, and Missy reminded herself to pull her wits about her, as her Para Ordinance would not work on the fairies.

For a cool park, the park was fairly well deserted save for Taz and Missy, which kind of sucked when Taz removed her ear plugs and packed her MP3 player away to – at Missy's best crazy, wild guess – appreciate the sounds of nature, and that was Missy sprung – stupid gravely, sandy walking track!

There was a high-pitched shriek, a cry of, "Oh my God, you freak! Are you stalking me, bitch?" and a heavy schoolbag being swung at incredible speed her way.

And, not forgetting the dramatic touches, a swarm of fairies fast zoning in on Taz from behind.

Before Missy could take a swipe for Taz's arm, the schoolbag was zooming past her, narrowly avoiding taking half of her face out with it, and – Taz swung around, ballerina-in-a-music-box-like, knocking fairies askew – seconds later, it was coming back for more, fairy swarm be damned, and Missy was knocked off her feet to the tune of, "You freak! Leave me the fuck alone!" sideways, into the small gully, creek thing, and covered from head to tow in stinky, stagnant water, mud, trash and assorted reeds and grasses and plants and insects, arms waving like a maniac.

Missy imagined that she was about to be abducted by aliens and probed for national secrets, or whatever it was aliens did, it was a more comforting thought than living through the rest of this day, and, then, from the top of the small, steep bank, standing boldly on the track, poker-straight, looking down on her, Taz began to laugh, and the fairies melted around her like a crazy, beautiful waterfall, and Missy wished she could laugh along with her.

By the time she'd recovered a standing position, Taz had snapped several shots on her cell phone and ditched, laughing all the way, and oblivious to the sudden patch of wetness at her feet, leaving Missy to single-handedly navigate and drag herself out of the disgusting bog that some lunatic on some council board somewhere driving a BMW or a Alfa Romeo or a Mercedes-Benz had decided to call a creek, for kicks.

* * *

The receptionist at the motel, when she saw her coming, leapt out of her seat, risking danger to her perfectly manicured fingernails, to lock the door quickly, and affix a snooty look to her face.

Missy thought about sticking her knife into a few of the tyres of the cars in the employee-only parking bays, but it wasn't worth it, and she didn't want to damage her knife.

She took the caravan park two miles down the road. On the upside, she was almost dry by the time she got there, even if she smelled – and looked – of bog. At least she wouldn't ruin the crappy carpet, and she'd be the aerosol companies' best friend for about half a second, or maybe two.

After paying, she headed straight for the toilet and shower block, and didn't even bother to strip her clothes off before ducking under the shower, her sopping, stinking school bag dumped in the corner by the closed cubicle door, and then she laughed.

She supposed she wasn't really owed a bead as technically it had been Taz who'd taken out the evil fairy horde, so maybe she'd by them both a bead and send it to her in the mail.

The she'd have to see about acquiring a car from somewhere, as the last one she'd hijacked had been discovered by the police a couple hundred miles back whilst she'd pulled over to use a service station toilet. Buses, and taxis, just didn't cut it for her. She wanted her own ride. She was, after all, the mistress of her own destiny.

And a car of her own just suited that somehow.

Or maybe it was just because she was sick of listening to other people's idea of music, and wanted to be able to listen to her own for a while. Sure, she missed Gentleman Jim, who didn't?

She heard the sound of the door open and close – squeaky hinges, a dead giveaway – but didn't give a damn, and continued to laugh.

* * *

_Thanks for reading._


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